


Like The Punchline To A Joke

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, The ducks are watching you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 00:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20162326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are going to feed the ducks, and they happen to be holding hands on the way, and Crowley is more than a little worried that Aziraphale has not noticed this fact.





	Like The Punchline To A Joke

**Author's Note:**

> This Crowley is demisexual, but it's not _quite_ explicit in the text. There is no angst related to that fact.
> 
> The title is from Thea Gilmore's 'Holding Your Hand', which is stuck in my head and is only slightly appropriate in practice. (Though 'I'm gonna haunt you' could pretty neatly define Crowley's ideas on a healthy relationship with Aziraphale, let's be honest, and there's some other lines... anyway, mostly it was just a convenient title.)
> 
> Things have been awful personally (loss of a pet), so happy comments on this or my other fics are treasured especially much right now. Thank you for all of them. <3

Crowley slid his hand into Aziraphale's as they left the park bench, and he is becoming terrifyingly sure that somehow Aziraphale has not actually noticed. 

" -- so that's why I brought oats, instead of bread, you see," Aziraphale is saying. "It's better for them."

"Sure," Crowley says, vaguely. He thinks fiercely in the direction of his hand, thoughts along the lines of _if you dare sweat it'll be _you_ in the waste disposal_. Aziraphale's hand is warm and soft, dry, and his fingers are curled around Crowley's gently. There's no tension in that hand, no surprise, and Crowley is really so very sure that Aziraphale has just not realised. Better keep distracting him. "Do you think it's been the same ducks? Every time we come here? They always look the same. Have for at _least_ a century."

Aziraphale frowns. "No, how could it be the same ducks? Though they do always seem to know which people will feed them and who not to bother with... maybe they teach each other."

They've reached the edge of the pond, and Aziraphale is going to reclaim his hand any minute, and then he'll notice that Crowley has been holding it. Crowley tries to hang on tighter without actually changing his grip at all. "Nah, look, that scruffy one -- he's here every single time."

The angel studies the ducks very seriously. "Are you sure?"

"He _knows_ me," Crowley insists. "And look, we haven't got any food in sight but they're all watching us."

He immediately kicks himself when Aziraphale's hand pulls free of his. "Well, we should rectify that," Aziraphale says, fumbling with the lid of the surprised tub of oats that could have sworn it had been left in the car, but has now arrived with them without an atom out of place. He doesn't seem to have noticed letting go of Crowley's hand either, and to be quite honest it's giving Crowley an anxious pain in his chest. He's going to discorporate because an angel didn't notice holding his hand, and it's going to be all kinds of embarrassing, especially when he has to deal with Downstairs.

He manages to keep it together while they toss oats to the ducks, though quite frankly his heart isn't in it, and then he finds himself nearly discorporating again from surprise because -- Aziraphale takes his hand again, just like that. 

"Aziraphale?"

The angel looks up, eyebrows raised inquiringly. "Yes, my dear?"

"You're..." Crowley tries to put it into words, which would seem simple enough ("angel, _you're holding my hand_") but somehow doesn't work in practice. Finally, he gives in and squeezes Aziraphale's hand a little. "Is this -- "

Aziraphale beams. There's no other word for it. It's just a smile, and yet it's also like the focused beam of a lighthouse, finding Crowley out in the dark and piercing him through. "It's very nice," he says. "Though I think I'll like kissing even more, when you get round to it."

"Kissing," Crowley croaks.

"You were planning on that?" Aziraphale sounds anxious. "I know you're not always one for physical contact, but I thought -- well, I hoped I might be an exception. If you don't want to kiss me, that's fine, of course. But... I would like it."

The wistful note in his voice is like a giant hand squeezing hard somewhere around Crowley's middle. "Kissing," he says. "Course. Anytime."

Aziraphale stops in the middle of the path. The note in his voice now is something like the way he sounds when ordering dessert. "Now," he says, and then, because he's Aziraphale, "please."

What can Crowley do but oblige? The kiss is very nice, and neither of them bursts into flames or discorporates, although Crowley's treacherous corporeal heart is beating like it's going to come right out of his chest. Which is fine, nobody's going to notice that, Crowley's still totally in control and keeping his cool, for all intents and purposes -- except then Aziraphale puts his hand on Crowley's chest and leans their foreheads together and smiles that smile again.

"Your heart is beating very fast," he says, because of course he not only notices but just _has_ to draw attention to it. Crowley has to drag in a breath he's been forgetting about, to try and make his physical form calm down. It's never normally so rebellious, but is acquiring a life of its own just from the touch of Aziraphale's hand, the softness of his lips, the look in his eyes... and Aziraphale's eyes turn gentle and knowing. "It's alright, Crowley," he says, softly. "It's real, I swear it to you."

"I'll need proof," Crowley says, only slightly strangled. "Extensive proof."

"Well," Aziraphale says, and he licks his lips like they're dry, but also in a way that makes Crowley's stomach flip somehow. "I think that can be managed. Perhaps not here?"

Crowley swallows again. "Bentley's this way."

"Lead on," Aziraphale says, and da -- ble -- _something_ it, takes Crowley's hand again.


End file.
